The Undercover Affair

by Cathryn Parry

  “Don’t get riled up,” Andy said, holding up his hands. “I’m just trying to help you. She’s a decent sort. An interior designer working for the MacLaines. Lyn’s not a slouch.”

  “I never said she was a slouch.” But that made him think. The congressman? That would imply that she worked for a high-end firm, and that she had serious skills. He turned to Andy. “Why is she so friendly with us?”

  “What’s wrong with us?” Andy looked genuinely flummoxed.

  John sighed. Even if Andy didn’t see it, the lady was suspicious. A woman like her, with her hot car and her good looks and her high-end interior design skills—at least, according to what Andy had just said—here, in this place? In this little dump of a bar in this sad, dead-end stretch of beach?

  “You don’t think she’s too friendly?” he said. “Getting to know all you guys on the crews?”

  “No. It’s good for her business, and frankly, it’s nice.”

  “You don’t see any ulterior motives?”

  “Like what?”

  He didn’t want to get into his reasons for watching everyone in the bar so closely. “She’s too alert,” John mused. “Too interested in us.” She paid too much attention when most people didn’t pay any attention at all—fiddling with their mobile phones all the time as they were.

  She seemed to be hiding something—he thought of the way she’d covered up her notes when he’d come up behind her in the parking lot. He hadn’t imagined it—she’d flashed him a surprised, guilty look before giving him that sweet smile that would turn any man’s knees to jelly.

  “I caught her,” he muttered to himself. “I know I did.”

  It was almost as if she was trained to pay attention to everything going on around her, and his sneaking up on her had been a rare slipup.

  Andy burst into laughter. “You’ve been spending too much time behind the bar, my friend. You need to get out of this place and mingle more.”

  Sure, he could laugh, John thought. Andy didn’t have a younger brother in trouble with the law. But not even Andy knew the extent of the trouble—John hoped nobody did. As much as possible, John didn’t want the information to get out.

  Andy just shook his head sadly at him. “You’ve really grown paranoid. I’m worried about you.”

  John doubted that. And the more he thought about the idea of her being so alert, like some sort of secret investigator, the more it made sense that’s what she was. That’s why he’d been so drawn to her—his subconscious had been alerting him to the danger she posed. Making him notice things about her that he normally wouldn’t study in a person.

  She’s had situational-awareness training, the same as I have. He would bet the Seaside on that fact.

  And if he ever saw Lyn Francis again—or whatever her name was—then he was going to confront her about it.

  Thoroughly.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Meeting of the Seacoast Burglary Task Force

  Concord, New Hampshire

  LYNDSAY TIGHTENED HER duty belt across her hips. Regulation gun, nightstick, flashlight, handcuffs and key were all in place. After a week of undercover work in her chosen street clothes, the duty belt felt tight and uncomfortable. But she was still an officer—not yet a detective—and so she was required to wear her uniform for the meeting with the other members of her task force.

  With one last look in the mirror, she smoothed her hair bun and straightened her collar. Leaving the ladies’ room, she headed upstairs to the conference room in the massive, granite-faced headquarters building.

  She was outside in the corridor when her mobile phone vibrated. She glanced at the screen and saw that it was her father’s number. Since she had a few minutes before the meeting officially started, she moved to a window in an alcove off the main corridor and took the call. Outside, the lazy river wound along the heart of the state capital. Not wanting to be overheard taking a personal call in a professional setting, she kept her voice low.

  “Hi, Dad.”

  “Lyndsay! I wasn’t sure if I’d be leaving you a voice mail. You’re off the undercover assignment now, I see.”

  “Yes. I’m about to head into a meeting. What’s up?”

  “Oh, I’m just calling to check on you. Wanted to make sure everything went well.”

  “It did.” Lyndsay watched a police car turn the corner of the building, down on the street several floors below. She knew her dad wanted to hear details about her assignment, but she couldn’t say anything just yet. “I met my objective for the week, so I can say that I’m pleased.”

  “You were successful, I assume.”

  She smiled to herself—her dad always expected the best of her. She could forgive him for the pressure of the expectations—she knew he loved her, and she knew how he loved the job.

  “Well, I’m not sure if my small part will help catch the bad guys, but I’ll get a better idea shortly.” Honestly, she wasn’t sure about the big picture, but that was because she’d been on a need-to-know basis. Today, she hoped to be moved beyond that.

  “I’m proud of you for seeking out the assignment,” Dad said. “It’s a tremendous opportunity you’ve snagged.”

  “I’m not sure what happens now,” she admitted. Her father was her best confidante, and she’d missed not talking to him during the past week. A police chief himself, recently retired, he felt nostalgic for the job. And, he enjoyed living vicariously through her. It drew them closer, and she didn’t mind that. In fact, she liked it. “Dad, honestly, now that I’ve got a taste of it, I’m not keen to go back to patrol.”

  “Enjoyed being an undercover detective, did you?” The pride in his voice was unmistakable.

  “Yes, I did like it. Very much.” She thought briefly of the freedom and the camaraderie she’d felt at the beach. It had been fun. Even being checked out by a handsome bar owner was something she’d decided she could handle. Especially after she had called Pete yesterday afternoon and he’d relayed that so far, John Reilly’s background wasn’t raising any red flags. In fact, he had an honorary discharge from the Marine Corps. She should be able to relate to him when and if the time came.

  “...You need to go in there and tell them you want the promotion to detective,” her father was saying. “You need to step forward and ask for the increased responsibility. Obviously, they needed a woman with your skills for the short-term task force. Who would have known that year in interior design school would come in handy for you? But the point is, you can’t let them discard you now. There’s a bigger picture, and you need to insert yourself—”

  “I know, Dad.” He was getting too passionate. Among the drawbacks of having a father who had also been in law enforcement for his entire career was that he sometimes got too involved.

  “So what’s your game plan?” he demanded.

  Going with the flow, that was her plan. Working with what came up, as it came up, had always gotten her through life’s difficulties. “I’ll handle it, Dad. I’ll be okay.”

  He sighed aloud. “Aw, I’m just so proud of you.” His voice lowered. “I never had the opportunity to do what you’re doing. I always regretted that.”

  “I know,” she said softly. Her dad had been the big fish in a small law-enforcement pond—a small town in the mountains, the chief of police on a tiny force. Now he was driving her mom a bit nuts being underfoot all the time. “I’ll come and visit you both soon, but I have to go now, okay?”

  “Remember to ask for the job, Lyndsay.”

  She smiled in spite of herself. “Ten-four, Dad. And say hi to Mom for me.”

  At two minutes to the hour, she found her conference room. It seemed that she was the last person they were waiting for, and as she sat, she lifted her chin higher and glanced surreptitiously around.

  She was the only woman at the meeting, and sh
e assumed that meant she was the only woman on the task force. Around the table she recognized Commander Harris, the imposing and serious man in charge of the task force as well as the superior who’d initially selected and interviewed her for the assignment.

  Pete—her backup partner—caught her gaze and smiled broadly. Beside Pete were two other men that Lyndsay didn’t recognize. Commander Harris introduced them as Wesley and Simon. Wesley was a young, nerdy-looking camera technician. Simon was middle-aged and fierce, with a thick growth of scruffy beard and a tattoo showing on his neck above the collar of his dress shirt. He looked as if he’d be more at home on a drug enforcement or organized crime undercover task force. Lyndsay knew that a burglary task force was tame compared to operations that the state police were known for. Frankly, she was glad for this one. She’d spent her time at the gun range and at the gym for martial arts class, and she was confident of her skills. But she’d rather not be undercover with violent people if she could help it.

  “Pete has taken the information you gathered from your surveillance, Officer Fairfax,” Commander Harris was saying, “and he was able to ascertain that none of the principals were the likely perpetrators of the burglaries.”

  Lyndsay nodded. That was good news—she’d been hoping that none of her new friends were involved in anything illegal. She had suspected that was the case, but that Pete had confirmed it made her breathe easier.

  “Furthermore, I’m told that nothing out of the ordinary occurred to break your cover. Is that the case, Officer Fairfax?” Commander Harris asked her.

  “No, nothing out of the ordinary happened,” she confirmed. Frankly, the assignment had been easier than she’d thought. She hadn’t even had to lie much, really, because it was true she’d been trained as an interior designer. Sort of, if one year of design school counted.

  “You did good work,” Commander Harris said. Pete gave her a quick smile. Wesley blinked, but truthfully, he looked greener than she did. Simon didn’t change his expression—he still looked bored by the whole thing.

  Licking her lips, she shifted in her seat, wondering if she should break in and ask questions. She was aching for a broader view of the case.

  “Last night we had another burglary ten miles up the coast,” Commander Harris said, his tone grim. “Our fifth burglary since February. Same MO. Paintings and jewelry stolen, and a safe cracked and emptied.”

  “Any signs of forced entry?” Pete asked.

  “None. The homeowner had a surveillance system, but nothing registered as out of the ordinary. The alarm never triggered. And there was no evidence of forced windows or doors.”

  Simon sat up taller in his seat. “Sounds like an inside job.”

  “We’re considering that possibility,” Commander Harris replied. “I’d like you to check it out, Simon. The theft has been kept from the police blotter. There’s no media attention. These paintings were uninsured, so there will be no outside interference.”

  Simon nodded. “I’m on it.”

  Lyndsay shifted in her seat. Obviously, paintings were an important part of the common thread. She thought of Pete’s request. The Goldricks had indeed displayed one valuable oil painting—a modern landscape, which she’d dutifully noted to Pete. She hadn’t told him yet, but within the MacLaine home there were two huge oil paintings over the congressman’s fireplace, but she didn’t know if the paintings were important or valuable. They were both female nudes, of the same model. To Lyndsay’s mind, the congressman’s private possessions weren’t her business, and she’d known better than to offer her opinion. But, if all the thefts had been of paintings... Maybe she should say something.

  I want to be a detective, she thought. Good detectives always get to the facts. She cleared her throat. “Do all of the burglaries to date involve stolen paintings?” she asked. “Sir,” she remembered to add.

  Commander Harris glanced at her. “Yes. Cut from their frames.”

  “Like a museum heist,” she blurted.

  “A lot easier than that,” Simon muttered. “These homes aren’t the fortresses that museums are.”

  “And the safes,” Wesley added. The team was really solidifying now. “Don’t forget the haul from the safes.”

  “How much is that estimated to be?” she asked politely.

  “From what we’re being told, tens of thousands in cash,” Commander Harris replied.

  “Don’t know if I believe that.” Simon leaned back cynically and clasped his hands behind his neck. “Has to be a lot more. What business are these new vics in?”

  Lyndsay turned to Commander Harris because she was curious about the answer, too. He seemed to be hesitating. All she knew about the MacLaines was that Paul MacLaine, recently retired as congressman, now worked part-time as a political lobbyist. Technically, he was a former congressman, but nobody around Wallis Point referred to him thus. Paul was quite wealthy. He hadn’t started out that way, but he had made money during the past decade by investing wisely. That was the scoop Andy had told her.

  “All five burglaries are from private homes on the seacoast. No one was home during the burglaries, although three of the homes have live-in staff who weren’t on the premises at the time.”

  The MacLaines didn’t have live-in staff. During her four days alone in the house, she’d seen and heard nothing suspicious. When she’d left the house yesterday, the two paintings were intact over the fireplace, and the wall safe behind the smaller of the two paintings was undisturbed.

  “Line of business of the owners?” Simon pressed.

  “Private businesspeople, as were the owners of the other four homes,” Commander Harris replied. “Nothing nefarious involved that we can see.”

  “Or they wouldn’t have come to us for help,” Wesley pointed out.

  “How did the task force start?” Lyndsay asked. Simon rolled his eyes at her question. She swallowed, but glanced to Commander Harris. “If you don’t mind my asking, sir, I’m unaware of the reasons for the formation and what our broader scope is.”

  “You may ask all you want, Officer. You’ve played an important part thus far—and you will be playing a key part in the future.”

  “Excellent.” She sat back in her chair.

  “Pete, why don’t you fill in Officer Fairfax—Lyndsay—as to the history of our task force. Wesley, as well.”

  “The first burglary occurred five weeks ago,” Pete said, leaning forward, his fingers interlaced. “I was a detective on the first case. When the second burglary occurred a week later, I noticed the similarities. About the time of the third similar burglary, Congressman MacLaine notified the governor.” Here, he glanced to Commander Harris.

  Commander Harris took up the narrative. “The congressman was concerned that a more unified, centralized and elevated effort be formed, across agencies, to apprehend the burglars. So as of a week ago, we have a task force. The expense is not inconsiderable, and each of you will have clear, focused duties, which will continue for no longer than two weeks. At that point, the governor expects an arrest or arrests.”

  She nodded. “What has everyone been doing so far?”

  “Lyndsay—” Officer Harris addressed the others “—has been undercover as interior designer Lyn Francis. She has a complete online persona as Lyn Francis, thanks to Wesley.” Here, Wesley smiled at her. “Lyn Francis is the only person on our task force with an undercover alias, and we will get to her mission in a few moments’ time.”

  She couldn’t wait to hear it.

  “Pete,” Commander Harris continued, “has been investigating the background of area contractors as flagged by Lyndsay. We have reason to believe that locals are involved, and Lyndsay’s efforts here are crucial. Pete is also serving—and will continue to serve—as backup for Lyndsay. Simon has been following up on crime scene investigations, as well as investigating insurance company
reports, alarm system company personnel, and staff at burgled homes. Wesley is with us part-time. He will be installing cameras at the congressman’s home, but we’ll get to that later, as well.” He turned to Wesley and nodded.

  It seemed to be a signal, because Wesley tapped at the keyboard of a laptop before him. On a wall screen, a photograph of Congressman MacLaine appeared.

  “This is Congressman MacLaine,” he said unnecessarily. The congressman’s familiar long face and full head of thick, brown hair, was a common fixture in the local media. Lyndsay hadn’t actually met him or his wife yet. She also hadn’t dared to poke about too much in their possessions in any of the twelve rooms of their oversize beach cottage.

  “Lyndsay,” Commander Harris said, “the congressman has specifically requested that you stay in his cottage, beginning Monday, for the next two weeks while he and his wife are away on a cruise vacation. There is a guest room that looks over the street, and you may set up in there.”

  Her mouth was open. She hadn’t expected this order, at all.

  “Wesley will be there on Sunday evening,” Commander Harris continued, “to place a network of hidden cameras in the MacLaine home, which will give a complete picture of the surrounding grounds as well as the rest of the street and the three mansions facing them. While he is there, your job will be to cover and assist him.”

  She blinked. “Do you expect the congressman’s home to be targeted? Has there been a tip?”

  “Not at this time. The congressman has requested the cameras. If his home is to be targeted, he wants evidence. He’s funding this part of the effort, though that is not to be made public knowledge.”

  She nodded. “Of course.” But still it niggled at her. What was she supposed to do there? “With all due respect, sir, what will I be investigating?”

  He gave her a censorious look, so she folded her hands and waited. Sometimes it was difficult to follow the dictates of the chain of command.